


Tattered

by Eramia



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eramia/pseuds/Eramia
Summary: "How long until she too is jaded like the rest of them."Team RWBY reach a quiet resting point for a brief moment on their journey to Atlas while riding the Argus Limited, but the pressures of adventure catch up to Weiss.





	Tattered

I.  
“a man plows his truck  
through the crowd  
celebrating on the Nice boardwalk  
where my once-love once insisted  
we could make it all the way through  
a triple-layer chocolate mousse  
until we were both so full  
we could not even bear to lick our spoons…”

 

Arriving on the Argus Limited should have filled Weiss with relief, the hopeful kind like when you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and all of your muscles relax; like liquid sunlight drip, drip, dripping into you, until you are full of warmth. Let go, her body seems to insist, unravel, unwind, but she doesn’t.  
She is sitting on the bottom bunk in the compartment with her back perfectly upright and her gaze tilted downwards towards her lap where her book lay open. Even despite her exhaustion, obeying proper etiquette felt automatic. She’s only recently realized that she still does it, like an unbroken habit. From far away, Weiss would have looked like a porcelain doll. A life-size replica of Princess Snow White. Unbothered. Content.

 

II.  
“I text a friend  
where are you  
which is code for  
please tell me these new deaths  
are not yours this time  
if I scroll up I will see the same text she sent me in January  
when I was in lockdown in Jakarta  
as the man in the starbucks across town  
pulled the pin from his grenade…”

 

On the bunk above her, she can hear Ruby tapping away at her video game on her scroll, her nails clicking against the glass screen, the frustrated groans of a combo lost, the quiet hiss of a prideful “yes” hissed underneath her breath, enemies facing the business end of a gun, a sword, a hammer, beings disappearing unseen in a blast.  
At this point Weiss has stopped trying to read.

 

III.  
“not yours  
this time  
is a song that plays so often  
I cannot help but know the words  
are you ok is the hook  
are you ok is code for  
we are not ok  
but please remind me you are breathing…”

 

Weiss feels as though she is ripped from her daze and gasps. She feels something brush against her forehead, looks up, sees a flash of red and the liquid sunlight within her freezes over.  
Then the blue of the sky through the window brings her back and she realizes that it is only Ruby’s cape, hanging over the edge of the top bunk as she tosses and turns in bed.  
She reaches to brush it aside, but then she touched it. The cape used to be so soft at the beginning of their school year. Now it was coarse, weathered as it was dragged through mud and snow and rain, just like they were. Fraying at the edges, whole strips of cloth torn away. Empty patches, loose ends soaring free in the wind. The whole cape could unravel if the right string were pulled. Just like they could.  
Weiss can’t remember a time when Ruby didn’t bring that cape with her. It had been with them the entire journey, and like them, it looked as if it were also hanging on by a thread.

 

IV.  
“back home  
the Black men and women I love  
look into mirrors and wonder  
if they are loose teeth  
in the mouth of an impatient god  
are you ok  
I text  
impotent  
please remind me you are breathing…”

 

“All right, girls, I think it’s time for an official team exercise,” Ruby declares. Weiss could feel the bunk shake as her teammate wriggled restlessly. “Who wants to play videogames?”  
“I mean, if you want me to kick your butt, yeah, sure,” Yang replies. She didn’t even have to look up from her novel to know she was smirking like usual. “Let me grab my scroll.”  
Out of the corner of her eye, Weiss saw Yang walk to the overhead baggage compartment. Then she saw some black rush by, as if summoned by its opening. She heard Blake say, “Here, let me help you with that,” and soon after, the soft thunk of Yang’s luggage hitting the floor.  
“Blake, you didn’t have to do that.” Weis could hear a soft mechanical whirr as Yang bent down and picked up her back with both arms, prosthetic and otherwise. She hauled it back to her bunk.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Blake was rarely bad at lying. Subterfuge, keeping things hidden, blending in, that was how she preferred her life. Weiss can remember when she first discovered Blake was a faunus, how well she had hidden it. She was vehement, visceral, feral, in defending who she was and what she did. And then Weiss thinks to now, how fragile she sounds, defending herself against Yang.

 

V.  
“I am scared  
is not a good enough reason to not get out of bed  
The world is falling apart  
is not a good enough one either  
I ask my mother if growing older means  
one wound piled upon another  
until we are just a collection of hurt  
and she insists no—  
sometimes somebody gets married  
or has a baby…”

 

There’s the zip of a zipper, some rustling, and then the bag is rolled off the bed and hits the floor. “I’m fine,” Yang tells her, but Weiss felt like she was speaking to everyone. Even Ruby went quiet and still. “We’re gonna be fine,” she continues, “It's just gonna be a bit before things are back to normal.”  
Sensing the change in mood and a sudden responsibility in changing it, she adds, “But... I am glad we're all back together.”  
“Yeah, okay,” Blake responds after a moment.  
“How touching.”  
The four of them turn to the door where Qrow stood, supporting himself against the doorway, cocktail in hand.  
Weiss felt the bunk shake as Ruby leaned over the edge of her bunk. “Oh, hey, Uncle Qrow, you wanna play too?”  
He chuckled warmly, but they could all hear the hoarseness, the gravel rattling in his throat. “Kick your butts? Sure.”  
It almost felt normal, but the fact that it was an almost, a fake-out, a facade, somehow hurt Weiss even more.

 

VI.  
“someone teach me a new song please  
bring me a spoon  
and a mouth to lean across the table for  
this time...”

 

Then it was over.  
They felt the whole train rumble, metal groaning under pressure, and wheels screaming as they grind against train tracks. Outside, muted yet inhuman shrieks rung like broken church bells calling them back to the pews. Qrow spilled his drink.  
Blake was the first to react. “What was that?”  
Weiss spoke but upon hearing her voice felt as if she couldn’t recognize the voice. She was like an answering machine: automatic. “Exactly what it sounded like.”  
Please.  
No more.  
I cannot take any more.  
“Just my luck,” Blake groaned. Weiss wondered how she could sound so casual about it. For some people, this was their absolute nightmare. At one point, it was theirs.  
Qrow placed a calloused hand on the hilt of his scythe in its collapsed form. “It’s not yours. Grab your weapons,” he ordered them.

 

VII.  
“this time  
I am a jaw of loose teeth  
I am a collection of string  
I am a snow-globe of worry  
I am a rolodex of fear…”

 

Everyone leapt out of their beds and followed Qrow down the hallway. Weiss followed too, but she was lagging behind them.  
Her body wanted her to stay back.  
She felt as if she could hear her muscles groan and creak as she ran, running like rusting clockwork with no oil.  
She felt but a marionette puppet, pulled by muscle fiber wrought like rope, caked in flesh.  
She felt so much that she wasn’t sure she feel much at all anymore.  
In her wild frenzy of newly learned empathy for the world, she burnt herself out.

 

VIII.  
“they are putting bodybags over children on the sidewalk  
where I once pushed a bowl away  
Laughing…”

 

She was stopped in the first class dining car as the train shook again and she clung to a table for balance.  
Weiss watched a porcelain statuette rock, knock itself over, and roll on its round base across the table. Something in her didn’t move to reach it, only watch as it fell over the edge and shattered on the floor.  
Just how many people she knew had done the same?  
Her first thought was Penny.  
She felt no resent towards Pyrrha. She barely thought of her when she thought of Penny’s death. She could only remember all of her pieces, her gears still pumping oil that was not meant to go anywhere, scattered across the stage.  
And she thought of the formless bodybag they took her away in. If she didn’t know any better, it would have looked like a regular garbage bag, and that thought made her so angry because Penny was not garbage, Penny was far from garbage, Penny was the best of us, how could she be thrown away and treated like trash--  
And then, Weiss couldn’t help but think of her losing the respect of her family and Yang losing her arm and Blake being betrayed by Adam and Ruby…  
All Ruby had was a cape in tatters.  
How long until she too was jaded like the rest of them.

 

IX.  
“I cannot possibly have anymore…”

 

The Porcelain Doll began to crack.

 

X.  
“I am already full.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The poem is "The Places We Are Not" by Sarah Kay! She is a spoken word poet and I urge you to look up the video for this particular piece but be sure to bring tissues.
> 
> It feels good to be off hiatus! Check my tumblr (eramia.tumblr.com) for updates and more content! I'd really appreciate it! <3


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